Tuesday, December 4, 2018

Solace

On a night of drunken stupor
and a long wayward drive

When the wind had a smooth sail
and
her young contours
smelled sweet with the
blossoms


her warm caress
her sweet lips
the softness between her thighs
every little detail of her - 

meant love more than anything,
spelled me some sweetness
solace even, if you will

-
Anant Dhavale

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